Call of the Dark
by shyfoxling
Summary: Severus has learned that Dark magic can burn away his imperfections, but can he convince Lily to see it his way?


_**A/N:** Written for the 2008 less_for_you Severus/Lily exchange on Livejournal. Request included plot, angst, dark, after Hogwarts, what-if/AU, Lily not returning and/or playing with Severus's feelings, and Severus as "a flesh and blood person: desires, ambitions, complexes, weaknesses but also brains". Betaed by hobgoblinn and lilyevans_snape. _

_**Warnings/contains:** Some purple prose, brief drug use, slight dubious consent.  
_

* * *

**•·•·•·•·•·•·•**

**Call of the Dark**

Magic of any sort was always a sensual pleasure, the way the power flowed through bones and veins and swept over the skin, but there was something about Dark magic that was better. Muggles were, of course, entirely blind to its ecstasies, and Severus thought that Muggle-borns were a shade too close to Muggles to appreciate the truth either. Not for nothing were they called _Mudbloods;_ the contamination in their blood made the magic scatter like light through a fog, unable to shine clearly as it did in those of pure wizarding blood.

Severus was acutely aware he was not one of those either, but he understood now. He had cleaved too closely to the common. Now he was purifying himself, purging himself of as much filth as he could. The more the dark fire burned inside him, the more it would distil and re-distil his blood until it was as pure as a volatile spirit, so intoxicating that others would become drunk just from gazing upon him.

She had been the essence of all his bad choices. So blinkered, so... _upstanding_. Severus would erase from his heart the green fire of her eyes, the red fire of her hair, the white fire of her skin. He would unhook the claws of these beasts from his flesh, root out the weeds within the garden of his mind, and cover it all with comforting darkness, with worthy purity. The shadows would be a balm on his ravaged spirit, healing the places where he had allowed himself to be wounded by a _tainted_ one, had given his meagre half-blood's power over to someone who was even less.

Severus would take back that power, and the Dark magic would be the lover she never was.

**•·•·•·•·•·•·•**

He had thought perhaps she was not like the others. She had seemed quite gifted from an early age. Truth be told, it was enchanting, entrancing, to see that spark where he would not have expected to find it, like finding a rose-bush blooming on a frozen moor. Severus had watched her and watched her and watched her, both before and after they had begun at school. She was clever and talented and he could not quite understand it, so he had kept his eyes on her, as if with enough observation the secret would suddenly occur to him.

As they got older, he had watched her grow beautiful even as he himself had not. One day he realized that somehow, somewhen, he had lost his heart to her. He decided he wanted to aid her, to bring her along; it would take more work on her as she was so close to Muggles, but they could be transformed together, and she would love him, and it would be the greatest of feelings.

Severus had offered all this in his gaze, in the way he spoke to her, even as his voice inelegantly cracked. He hardly dared to touch her, she was so fair and bright, but he tried to speak his desire and hint at the path he advised her to take with the lean of his body and the cant of his head. _Come with me out of the blinding sun and into a place where there is starlight,_ he had pleaded with every breath.

She saw what he did, but would not see why, and she scorned the devotion of his soul. When he tried to protect her she shoved him away like a wilful child that insists it must do everything for itself. He had offered her his whole heart, and she had disdained it, never knowing that she already had it. It stung far more than he would ever admit out loud.

He had once told her that blood made no difference, and he had almost come to believe it, so sure was he that he needed her by his side. But then came _that day_ at the end of fifth year. He had been furious in two directions: first that she was not making any true effort to aid him whom she supposedly called _friend,_ and secondly that she had appeared while he was helpless, which would surely weaken him in the eyes of his tormentors.

In that moment, she was every bit the filthy name Severus had called her. Worthless! Useless! Are you here only to add to my agony? _Mudblood!_

He realized later that it had been an act of passion and anger, and tried desperately to regain the ground he had lost with her. He still wished to protect and cherish her, make them both into something better than they were. Didn't she see that she could leave it behind, exalt herself so that no one would ever have cause to fling such a word at her ever again?

She rebuffed him strongly then, and in fact with increasing insistence even as his attempts at reconciliation became feebler.

Well, then: good riddance to her, and she would share none of his glory.

Or so he told himself.

**•·•·•·•·•·•·•**

Of course she had married that Potter. _Of course_. It only stood to reason: he was a pure-blood and terribly wealthy, and the lower always sought to rise above its station. It did not escape Severus that that was exactly what he himself was doing, but then, he was merely unfortunate, not wholly unworthy. He had a handicap, if you will, that made the challenge greater, and the victory once won therefore sweeter.

Still, he remembered how he had once wished to bring her along with him into this wonderful place, and his heart ached for what might have been.

Perhaps... perhaps it was not too late. In a way, this marriage was a good sign; it meant she did indeed wish to climb in the world. Perhaps she regretted spurning the treasure Severus had offered her when they were younger?

His hand trembled as he wrote the letter, and shook violently as he read her response.

_Severus,_

_That sounds like an interesting idea. Who knows, maybe it will be enjoyable for both of us. I've missed the friend I used to have. We could just have some tea and a chat, would that be all right? I think you had better come when James isn't around, though. I've no desire to see our house reduced to a war zone. Saturday at seven? If I don't hear from you again I'll assume that's all right._

_Sincerely,_

_Lily P._

"Sincerely"? Hmm. Although she'd used the initial of her new name, it could be worse. It had probably been too much to hope for a "Love," or even a "Yours" like the one he had signed his own letter with. Severus hadn't meant to sound so eager so soon, but his hand had seemed to write the word of its own accord. He had sighed and almost started over, but something in him did not wish to.

_Yours_.

It was true. Even after all these months, all the distance between them, the act of writing to her made it plain: she still had the deepest devotion of his heart. No aspiration was greater. He wanted to see her just once more, clasp her hand in his and beg her to see reason. Writing that word made him feel exposed to her imaginary gaze, but he found it daring, thrilling to show that piece of himself. It was a risk, but for such a possible gain.

And her reply made it good: although he felt he was laid bare, his concealing cloak stripped away, she did not turn away in disgust. She must have fathomed the jewel he was carefully nurturing within himself, and he even dared hope that she now finally wished to touch it, hold it, learn how she might plant the seed of the crystal within her blood as well.

He would be her servant in all things if only she would realize that the path he was going down would eventually lead to far deeper rewards than the mere reflected splendour Potter could give her.

_Yours_.

Severus would not rely solely upon that fragile hope, however. That would be unforgivably imprudent. She was headstrong and always very sure that her choices were the only right ones—but still, this was not a case that called for force. One did not cast _Imperius_ for this sort of thing, and in any event he did not wish to _force_ her to do anything. He just needed a little assistance, something to incline her slightly in his favour, something to overcome that initial resistance and make sure she would really _hear_ him.

**•·•·•·•·•·•·•**

The concoction wasn't a Dark one. Laudanum, beryl, nettles, burnt wrens' feathers—in fact, compared to some things he had brewed, it was positively innocuous. A slight relaxing of the mental defences, a delicate inspiration of goodwill and patience. In this case, as the only other person present, he would be the only possible target for the effect. But he hardly intended to set about brewing only a single dose, so that meant linking the whole cauldronful to himself so that it could be used in other situations as well.

Simple enough to do, squeamish though some wizards would be about it. The power contained in bodily fluids was known even to Muggles both ancient and modern, although they lacked the gift necessary to make any real use of it. Their pathetic "sympathetic" magics paled in comparison to what a true wizard could do with spit, tears, semen, and blood. Semen and blood: both full of living cells, doomed to die for the cause of magic, and both easily got.

Blood—from the place on his arm that bore the Mark, the place that symbolized to him all that he would become. The seat of his power was in his heart, but this was the place that it showed forth on his skin, as the shape of the flower identifies a plant. He stroked over the cut with the pad of his thumb dipped in dittany, so as to ensure the Mark itself was not disfigured by a scar.

Semen—a laughably trivial matter for a healthy young man like himself, especially given the purpose that was on his mind. He stared contemplatively into the pale flames beneath the cauldron as he stood before it, stroking himself slowly with one hand and fondling his bollocks with the other. He thought of beautiful and perfect things as he thrust against the soft inner surface of his hand, slicked first with his tongue and soon with the drops of clear fluid that flowed from the head of his cock.

As he came into his palm with her name on his lips, he realized that without even setting out to, he'd obtained tears as well.

**•·•·•·•·•·•·•**

The conversation was pleasant enough, if a little stilted. Lily chattered lightly about how odd it had been to be taken into a whole family of pure-blood wizards, but they were all very nice to her, and oh, Potter's parents were so kind, you might even have liked them, Severus, I don't know where James gets his attitude, I really don't. She said this last with indulgent amusement instead of the annoyance Severus remembered from their teens, and he had to stop himself from scowling darkly at her.

He had been completely unprepared for the effect of seeing her eyes look on him with kindness instead of disapproval, however. It lit a fire in a cold and lonely place inside him, and suddenly he remembered his craving for that look as though it had never dimmed. Success became more important than ever.

It was a simple matter to craft an opportunity to administer the potion. After teasing him gently about how she'd forgotten that he took so much milk in his tea that it was practically white, Lily went to the kitchen to fetch some more. Severus smiled ruefully. He certainly didn't take his tea that way normally. He preferred it black, and if she really remembered, she would have known that.

In any event, the ruse had worked. While she refilled the little round flask that was serving as a makeshift milk jug, he deftly tipped the dram of transparent pale pink fluid into her cup. His heart leapt into his throat when she paused in the midst of her next sip, the rim of the cup resting on her lips. The potion's scent and taste were faint and should have been well-masked by the tea, but were not undetectable if one knew what to look for.

It was only an eyeblink or two before Lily shook her head slightly as if dismissing an odd thought that had occurred to her and swallowed a mouthful of her tea. Severus let out a long, slow breath.

Suddenly, she turned sharply towards him, beaming, eyes bright. "It's kind of you to listen, Severus," she said, "but you can't possibly have wanted to hear me natter on about life as a Potter. Potters were never one of your favourite subjects, if I recall." She laughed warmly, and for a moment Severus doubted what he was doing. What if she was happy here, with things as they were?

No,he told himself as he turned it round in his head, a laugh like that was exactly why he was here. This was another chance for her. She had to be safe to laugh that laugh every day of her life if she so chose, and Severus could only think of one way for that to happen, with the way the world was changing.

"So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" she continued, laying a hand on his knee.

Severus's brains seemed to turn to mush. He had taken care to rein in all the fervent tenderness that had driven him to sign his letter with "Yours" and which had reared its head again as he stood outside her door, and here she was about to undo it all with a single touch. He had prepared himself for the rush of feeling at seeing her again for the first time in years, but he was not prepared for _this._

While he gathered his wits about him, Lily merely regarded him patiently with a soft smile on her face. Apparently that potion had been a better choice than he realized.

He placed his hand on top of hers, pleading silently with it to stop trembling like that, cleared his throat, and began in a low but urgent voice:

"Lily, I'm so grateful you've allowed me to come and see you..."

**•·•·•·•·•·•·•**

When had Lily begun to kiss him?

His body told him there was never a time when Lily did not have her mouth pressed to his and her hands in his hair, but his mind knew that could not be true. How had things come to this from a few affectionate touches and some friendly, if weighty, talk?

He remembered her gazing at him, seemingly hypnotized by the sound of his voice. He remembered her cuddling close to him and leaning her head on his shoulder. He remembered placing an arm around her as he urged her to accept the course of action he suggested. He remembered lacing their fingers together and trying to express his care and worry in the tightness of his grasp. He remembered whispering "Lily, please... I couldn't bear to lose you," his cheeks flushing scarlet as he cursed himself for saying that and seeming so pathetic, and the touch of her hand, cool against his flaming face.

All of that was clear, but he could not remember when she had brushed her lips against his skin, and made his next utterance die in his throat.

If this was his own doing, it was a result he could not have anticipated. The draught he had given her was far from a love potion; why, the idea was abhorrent. It had only been meant to incline her towards him a little, to give her a gentle push towards positive feelings and openness to his ideas. She must have already been a lot closer than he thought for "a slight push" to have had this sort of result.

The thought gave Severus a soaring hope in his breast. Maybe she was already unsatisfied with this turn in her life. Maybe she regretted as much as he did that they had ever parted ways, and had thought better of her oh-so-brave desire to remain the mere Mudblood most wizards would think she was.

"Severus," she said breathlessly as she paused and nuzzled his ear, "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything, my Lily," he replied with the same tone. _His_ Lily—it sounded so perfect. He was _her_ Severus, after all; he'd written as much.

"Hold still for a moment."

He obeyed her without question, wondering with delicious anticipation what she was intending to do.

Lily pulled away and stood up, but Severus was patient, holding still as he had been bidden. A smile crept across his face; this was a strange game, but let it not be said there was no playfulness in him. It just had to be coaxed out by the right person.

But what was that in the corner of his vision...?

**•·•·•·•·•·•·•**

"Severus Snape, you utter, utter bastard."

Ah. It was a wand being pointed at him. Directly at his head, in fact.

Now he obeyed her request out of self-preservation; he dared not move, especially to reach for his own wand. Mudblood she might be, but Lily had power. Whatever she was contemplating doing to him right now was almost certainly entirely within her magical grasp.

"You couldn't possibly have thought I wouldn't notice, could you? And that one's so easy to resist if you know you've swallowed it, easy to play along with to find out what you were up to. I guess you thought you were being subtle? Yeah, maybe to someone who hadn't studied Potions with you for years. Maybe someone _dumber_. Is that what you thought?"

Her voice was like a shard of ice through his body. Severus was ashamed that he had overlooked something so simple, but more, he was devastated that he had lost what was probably his last possible chance to save Lily.

"Well, I'm _not_ dumb," she continued with a snarl. "Too trusting, maybe. I thought you wanted to come here for—I don't know _what_ I thought. But it's obvious it was nothing good, after all. I gave you a chance, and wow, did you ever waste it. I should Body-Bind you right now and call in half the Order."

An iron band squeezed Severus's heart. He must have winced, because Lily said bitterly, "Oh, I saw that. I know what you are now, Snape. I know. You've become everything horrible I always thought you would become. I told you, I asked you, you wanted to become a Death Eater, didn't you? And God how I hoped you would say _no, Lily, no, it's not true,_ but it was, it _wa_s_,_ wasn't it, you fucking hopeless despicable bastard?"

She was becoming hysterical. Severus couldn't think of another time he'd ever heard the word "fuck" drop from her lips. He wanted to cry; he couldn't believe he'd reduced his Lily to this sort of display. He had never wanted to injure her, only help her leave behind the accident of her birth.

He chanced the slightest turn of his head towards her, so he could see her face, and anguish consumed him. Her eyes were red and tears streamed down her lovely cheeks. He wished only to soothe her pain, even if it meant his own death, right here, right now.

Severus quickly refocused his eyes on the floor and left them carefully fixed there. "Lily," he said, the steadiness of his voice surprising him. He swallowed, and forced the next syllables past his lips. "Lily Potter. Listen to me. If it will help you to kill me, then I beg you to do it. Perhaps then you will see what can be gained by having the courage to perform such an act." He darted his eyes sideways again to watch her expression.

Lily's brilliant eyes widened, and her breathing quickened, then slowed. Even without dipping into her mind, Severus was sure of what had passed through her thoughts: she had contemplated killing him, then decided she could not do it. Why, he would probably never know, but the fact of it meant he could still escape this.

"Get out, Snape," she said suddenly.

"Lily?" he said, looking fully up at her.

"I don't care where you go, but I said, _get the fuck out of my house._"

That wasn't at all what she had said, a part of him offered wryly, but now was not exactly the time to argue the point. He stood, gave her a deeply mournful look, and Disapparated as quickly as he could.

**•·•·•·•·•·•·•**

Severus realized he'd been granted a stay of execution. Lily had had him at wand-point, and could have sent him to Azkaban with just a few choice spells and words—but she had not. Why would she do such a thing? Did she think even now that there was some possibility he would turn about, go back on his life's ambition? Did she _pity_ him? He grimaced at the thought.

What troubled him the most, though, was that he'd failed in the mission he'd set for himself. If he'd thought Lily was divided from him before, then the rift between them was now certainly permanent. Laudanum, beryl, nettles, burnt wrens' feathers—an atrocious traitor of a potion it had been. He ought never to have trusted it. Or perhaps, horribly, it was he who was too incompetent to make it as powerfully as it could have been made.

He had wasted too many bad choices on her in his life. If she insisted on staying a Mudblood, then let her. Severus yearned for the soothing and transformative embrace of his Dark magic. It asked so little; it wanted only recognition. Dark magic was a lover who welcomed you home, not a taskmaster who demanded service.

Tonight he would go to it and let it wrap itself around him. Some of the laudanum, there, under the tongue, would help him find the shadows where it dwelt. As he laid on his spartan bed, he caressed the inside of his left forearm as he would have done hers and let the feeling of the Dark power wash over him. _Let me show you how to have your revenge, _whispered a quiet voice inside him, and he listened; and soon he was drifting deep in the murky visions of his heart.


End file.
